


Aftermath

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-16
Updated: 2008-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:13:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the only ones that understand are the ones that have lost the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatwhichiam](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thatwhichiam).



> Written for the LJ community "dgficexchange."
> 
>  
> 
> **Original Prompt:** Prompt 52, written for LJ user "thatwhichiam."  
> The tone/mood of the fic: dark/nerve wracking, with romance and a happy ending  
> An element/line of dialogue/object you would like in your fic: Riddle's diary  
> Preferred rating of the the fic you want: PG13  
> Canon or AU? Either  
> Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): H/Hr, even hinted at.

_Any fool can tell the truth, but it requires a man of some sense to know how to lie well._  
Samuel Butler (1835 - 1902)

Draco stumbled out of the castle, not really sure where he was going. It was all a mess, really, and it didn't matter anyway. Walls were broken, bodies strewn about like wrecked dolls in the wake of a destructive child. People were dead and ideals had been destroyed without a backward glance. There was no place for him now, not on either side. Trying to survive had cost his family much, but he was now aware that the price was only beginning to be paid. The Death Eaters didn't trust him and neither did the Order. They were looked on in suspicion, and he didn't think he would avoid Azkaban, even if he never killed anyone. He was a Malfoy, and now that would be more than enough on its own.

He hadn't known how it would be, but that didn't matter now. Ignorance of the truth was no excuse to hide behind.

His parents were out there somewhere. He couldn't imagine them anywhere else. His father would want to be by the Dark Lord's side, trying to curry favor. His mother would be there to try to make sure he survived, no matter what happened. He could only hope that the fates would have enough leniency to make sure that they survived as well. He pushed the thought of the Friendfyre out of his mind, not sure what to make of it anyway. He hadn't seen it coming. He hadn't seen any of it coming. He hadn't known, hadn't even been able to guess. Everything had come crashing down around him, and now everything was gone. His entire world had crumbled to ashes in an instant.

A flash of red caught Draco's eye and he halted in place. He blinked, not sure if he was seeing correctly. His head still hurt, and that Weasley git had a hard punch. _As if surviving is such a lowly thing to do,_ he thought miserably, fists clenching at his sides. _As if knowing you would lose if you picked a side was such a horrid reason to try and play them both. As if wanting to live and not rush headlong into certain death was a miserable thing to be..._

A Weasley was sitting on a piece of shattered parapet, facing the lake. It looked to be part of the Astronomy Tower. Draco started backing away, kicking over a stone as he did so. The Weasley in question turned, and he could see her face with tear tracks along her cheeks. It didn't make any sense to him. Didn't they just win? Isn't this what they wanted? All of her Gryffindor bravery had done something after all, and they could exhort their blessed ideals with all the disgusting fervor they used to look down upon Slytherins.

Draco remembered suddenly the flash of red he had seen in the castle during his escape into isolation. One of her many brothers, dead, glassy eyes staring upward with an awful finality that had turned his stomach.

Maybe victory was hollow for them. Maybe survival really was such a miserable thing to be.

"I didn't know anyone was out here," he said, nearly stammering on the syllables. His voice sounded raw and broken, not like himself at all. Then again, he hadn't been himself since fifth year, when everything had been so simple. Sixth year had begun his own personal descent, when ignorance was stripped away so rudely.

She turned away, back toward the lake. "Running away?"

"I don't think anyone would miss me." He was surprised at his honesty, at the lack of fire in her. She was like embers now, smoldering in her grief. It hurt to see her this way.

"Maybe they'll think you're dead and leave you be."

Her voice sounded painful, as if something had shattered within her. Maybe something had. Not really knowing why, Draco walked forward and sat down near her. He looked out across the lake, the surface calm despite the awful aftermath behind them.

"I'm sorry."

She turned to him them, eyes wide and started. "What?"

"I saw him, as I was leaving. It didn't register until just now. I know we aren't friends and we don't like each other, but I'm sorry."

She bit her lip and tears welled in her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered after a moment. She searched Draco's face as he nodded in acknowledgment. "I'm sorry, too."

His brow furrowed in confusion. "What for?"

"Because your life is gone. Whatever you hoped it would be, it's gone now. They won't let you have it, and you won't ever get it back."

Draco sighed and looked back over the lake. "I lost it before today," he admitted softly. He had never admitted this before, but she at least seemed genuine. Before today, he would never have thought Crabbe or Goyle would turn on him, would never have thought Slytherin would devour itself. Today had taught him a lot of things that the past two years had only prepared him for.

"What do you mean?"

Draco looked at her, at the honest concern on her face. If he was the same person he had been even two years ago, he would spit in her face and forbid her from even being in his presence. He would curse her heritage and the poverty that she lived in, content that his wealth and position meant he was better in every way. He knew it wasn't the case any longer, and the knowledge was bitter inside of him.

"When Father went to Azkaban, I thought it was your precious Potter's fault. I thought he lied. I didn't... I _couldn't_ believe the worst of him. I couldn't believe that he was this awful man that everyone wanted him to be, that we were wrong." He couldn't meet her eyes then, the blank acceptance in them. "And then I was told that to redeem his mistakes, I would have to kill someone in his place. If I didn't, all our lives were forfeit." He looked up at the sharp intake of breath, the shard of surprise that she couldn't quite hide. "So I found out quickly that they weren't what I thought they were." He gave her a bitter smile. "Your precious Potter wasn't what I thought he was, either."

"Stop calling him that. He's not my precious anything."

"You dated," Draco replied simply, shrugging. "The whole school couldn't talk about anything else for months."

"The whole school was jealous because they didn't know what reality was."

He cocked his head in surprised. "Which is?"

"He wasn't what I thought he was," she replied softly, shrugging. "It seems we all have to grow up sometime and shed our illusions."

Draco flinched. The Dark Lord had said that to him when charging him with the task to kill Dumbledore. _Little boy. It's time to grow up and shed your illusions. The world won't change if you keep sitting still!_

Her smile was a bitter curve of lip. It surprised Draco to see it, a shred of sarcastic self-deprecation that he hadn't thought Gryffindors capable of. "I suppose sometimes the dark stays with you, like a stain you can't get rid of."

"We've always thrown those things away," Draco responded instantly. His mother could never stand messes or disorder. His mother wanted the image of their home to be spotless, to be talked about in reverent tones. _Oh, Mother, I'm sorry,_ he thought suddenly, though he didn't know how he could have acted any differently.

"Yes, I suppose you do," she said, and her voice had gone icy cold. He blinked at the sudden change as she stood up. "I suppose people fall under that view, too, don't they? Especially if they're common and fithy as Weasleys?"

Draco looked at her in confusion. "What are you on about?"

Her eyes searched his face, and they were surprisingly calculating. Draco suddenly realized that he couldn't read her intentions or emotions. Her expression was blank, sculpted like a mask. He had seen it on Death Eater faces, on his parents' faces, even on his own. He had never thought he would see it on a Gryffindor's face, and certainly not someone who basked in the light of the Golden Trio as she did.

"You really don't know, do you?" she asked finally, her voice still cold. She watched his confusion deepen and shook his head. "They truly kept you innocent, didn't they?"

"What are you on about? Have you gone mad now that your brother's dead?"

"Don't talk about him," she snapped, her voice cracking the air like a whip. He blinked in surprise at the force of it, at the tone of it. There was something familiar about that presence, something about the command in it.

He remembered her name suddenly, only just realizing that he had forgotten it. Ginny Weasley, the littlest Weasley, the girl, the baby of the family that had been coddled and protected and had a wicked hex of bats. _That's not very Gryffindor either,_ Draco realized. He studied her as he would any new Slytherin arrival, assessing her strengths and weaknesses. While he didn't know much about her, he saw now that she would have been a very worthy adversary. She had been particularly crafty his fifth year, he remembered. She could have been a Slytherin.

"What happened?" he asked softly, eyes never leaving hers. Her mask didn't waver. "When did you lose your innocence?"

After a short eternity, she replied "First year."

Draco wracked his brains to remember what happened his second year. "You weren't taken by the basilisk," he said finally. "The Mud—"

"Don't call her that," she snapped.

"But it wasn't you. Nobody said anything about you."

"Of course not. It wasn't for everyone to know." There was a bitter, bitter edge to her voice. She resented something mightily, she _hated_ with a passion that had festered within her. "They don't remember, anyway, even if I do."

"I don't remember anything else happening my second year," Draco said, looking at her. Her entire body thrummed with her hatred, fear and resentments. There was darkness within her, that stain she had mentioned. Something very bad had happened to her, something no one talked about and had all but forgotten.

"Your father gave me a diary," she began slowly, unable to hold his gaze. It looked as if the mask that was her face was beginning to crumble.

Draco shook his head. "What? That doesn't make sense. Why would he give you anything?"

"It was Tom Riddle's diary," she replied simply, the mask shattering to pieces. She fell to the piece of crumbled tower and looked at her feet.

"I don't understand. What's so bad about that?"

She looked up then, pity in her eyes. "They never told you about your Dark Lord, did they? They didn't tell you what he was?" Draco shook his head, face blank. "He was a halfblood," she said, tone mocking and harsh. "His mother conned a Muggle into taking her to wife, and he was left an orphan when she died. He grew up as a Muggle until he came to Hogwarts, _hating_ everything that his father was." Her lips stretched into a rictus grin. "He kept a diary. A magic diary, of course. A secret diary. One he imbued with a little bit of his soul, one that your father gave to me so that I could be possessed."

Draco wanted to deny it, even opened up his mouth to say something to contradict her. But her eyes carried the truth, and he was no longer so callous that he would uphold his father's sterling reputation when he knew it to be false.

"I called the basilisk, Malfoy," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And sometimes in my dreams I still do."

He didn't realize he had grabbed her hand until he felt hers tighten within his. "Draco," he corrected gently. "If we're going to tell each other secrets, we might as well be friends."

Something in her face softened. "I'm Ginny."

"I didn't know," he told her unnecessarily. Something in him wanted her to know that. While he was a selfish git and had never considered her worth notice before, he wasn't the kind of person that could break another soul for his own gain. "I couldn't... I don't know what I would have done if I'd known."

"You might not have cared."

"Maybe, but I've never really hurt anyone. Not like that, anyway. It was just names. It was just whispers. It was never... It was schoolboy tricks. It wasn't _serious."_

Her smile was faint. "As if we're old warriors that far removed from it."

"Doesn't it feel that way, though?"

Ginny nodded slowly. "Sometimes." There was a vulnerability in her gaze. "My brothers were so protective of me. The twins..." Her voice faltered and broke. Draco tightened his hand around hers and watched helplessly as tears began to fall down her cheeks again. "They never treated me as if I should be shut up in a box. They never discounted what I had to say."

"They knew it forced you to grow up?" She nodded almost gratefully at his words. Draco reached out with his other hand and brushed the tears from her cheeks. "And now you have to grow up again. This time they're not there."

She leaned forward against him, her forehead hitting his shoulder. "It hurts so much. Everything, all at once. It just hurts."

Draco wound his free arm around her thin shoulders. "Loss is like that, I think. Like a great hole ripped open in your chest." He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her shampoo, lavender and orchids. "Like something that can't ever be filled back up again." He dropped his chin to rest on top of her head. "Like a sadness you just can't shake, something that wants to swallow you whole so you can't ever see the sun again."

Ginny was nodding against his shoulder. "That's exactly how it is. Exactly."

"Maybe now they'll understand you better," Draco whispered. "I couldn't have two years ago."

Ginny pulled back and wiped at her face. "I shouldn't be crying on you."

"It doesn't sound like you have anyone else."

Her face fell somewhat. "No. The girls my year are stupid, and sometimes it feels like Hermione and Luna only tolerate me because of Ron." She sniffled. "How do you relate to somebody that doesn't understand? I wind up pretending nothing happened because nobody wants to remember, and the only one that gets hurt is me."

Draco brushed her cheeks gently with his fingertips. "I thought Gryffindors didn't lie," he told her sardonically. "It's what they curse us Slytherins for."

She had the grace to flush. "They curse the lies they don't want to hear."

"People don't get to choose," Draco told her honestly. "You lie about everything or nothing or some things, but people don't get to choose which they hear. They have to hear everything."

"But they don't want to," Ginny replied softly. "They want their hero and their damn damsel in distress. They want their villains nice and evil. They want it simple to think about, black and white and no shades of gray. They want it easy."

"Life isn't easy. It might look like it sometimes, but that's a lie, too. It isn't easy. Nothing worth anything is easy." Draco's thumb dropped to the corner of her mouth and drew it across her bottom lip. His heart pounded in his chest, and he looked at her with pleading eyes. He didn't know what he wanted from her, but hoped that she would take the gesture as comfort and not as a push for more than she was willing to give.

Her eyes locked to his. The same hopeful emptiness was reflected back at him, the same need to be understood. He had never thought a Gryffindor would understand the deep loneliness that could come with knowledge, the isolation that the truth could bring. Of course Slytherins lied. It was how they gave themselves cold comfort.

They kissed, soft and tentatively, Draco's hands winding through her hair. Her cold hands were resting on his shoulders, keeping her balance. While each of them had kissed others, this was an inexpert kiss. This was probing and unsure, exploring possible meaning.

Ginny ended the kiss first, drawing back for breath. Her expression was open, almost painfully needy, her emotions simmering close to the surface. Draco could suddenly read her easily, as if her thoughts were his own. She needed someone to accept her however she was, flawed and shattered in places, hopeful and giving in others. She needed someone that could accept all of her truth, not just the pretty or comfortable bits. She wasn't convenient or easy, but nothing worthwhile was easy.

"They'll think I've corrupted you," Draco murmured, stroking her hair softly. _If you're willing to work at this I'll do it,_ Draco thought suddenly. _Whatever this is, whatever this could be, I'll do it. I'll walk back across these rocks with you, and I'll stand up with you. I'll show them how they should be treating you._

The possessive and protective urges were startling, but Draco accepted them as true. It's what he would have wanted for himself as well.

Her smile was like a sunrise over the lake. "We both know they don't know me very well."

"You can be pretty scary sometimes," Draco admitted with a smile. "That definitely has nothing to do with me." He cupped her face in his hands. "I don't..." He licked his lips and started again, voice more sure this time. "I don't want promises you can't keep. That's one thing you can't ever accuse a Malfoy of. We don't break our vows."

"When a Weasley pledges themselves to a cause, they usually fight until the end." Ginny's hands closed over his. "It might be too early for any pledging."

"Yes, but if... If it comes to it, if you aren't happy with me, tell me. I don't want the pretty lies. I don't want to be the last to know." He searched her face, found the acceptance there he was looking for. "I want something real, Ginny. Whatever this is, whatever it could be, whatever it's going to be... I don't want to feel like it's all been a lie. I want it to be real. I've lived with lies long enough."

"I think we both have," Ginny replied. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly. There was an unspoken promise in the kiss, one that they both knew was there. "I don't want a storybook," she said, her lips twisting into a mockery of a smile. "I tried that once, and it didn't work out very well. The hero wasn't all the story said he'd be."

"Yeah? And how does the villain measure up?"

"Oh, Draco. You're not the villain in the story," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "You're not evil, not even close. You couldn't be. Callous and selfish and cold, certainly. But you're not the evil monster that Tom is. Was. You aren't the heartless bastard that could break others to pieces just for the sheer joy of it."

"Did you ever tell Potter about that?"

"He didn't ask," Ginny said with a helpless shrug. "He didn't want to listen. No one did."

"I will," Draco murmured. "If you want to talk about it."

"Compare Tom stories?" Ginny teased. "That sounds morbid."

"He seemed all powerful," Draco replied honestly. "He didn't... It never seemed like he could have been an ordinary boy. That he could have been a student."

"Even evil has to come from somewhere," Ginny replied softly. "He didn't get that way overnight. It took time for that to happen. The Tom I knew was only just starting. Even that was bad enough."

"So do you think something good could come from all of this?"

Ginny's grip on his hands was reassuringly tight. "Something already has."

Draco smiled at her, suddenly almost giddy with expectation. The future was bound to be full of rocky hardships, but it didn't seem quite so bleak as it had just an hour before. He could never be the proud Draco Malfoy of posh fortunes and petty desires. That didn't seem so bad anymore. The shallow man he could have been no longer appealed to him. It was going to be a difficult road for him, for them both if they chose it, but nothing that was worth anything was gotten easily. He had to earn his future.

"Are you ready to go back and face them?" Draco asked, concerned.

"Are you?" she countered.

"Maybe if I'm not alone," Draco admitted. He stood, and she stood up with him. "Maybe if there's someone out there other than my mother who doesn't think I'm a horrible person for surviving all this."

"You didn't choose a side, but that doesn't make you evil."

"Some people think it's the same thing," Draco replied, thinking of the punch he had received from her brother.

"We know better. Isn't that important?"

"It would help if other people knew it, too."

"Need me to vouch for you?"

"Maybe," he admitted. He drew her into a tight embrace, breathing in her scent. Even if this never progressed any farther, if she decided that she wanted her storybook hero after all and would accept the lies that went with it, Draco still had this moment. He still had this one perfect moment where he was understood and could understand another. He felt alive in a way that he hadn't felt for the past two years, open and light and _right_ somehow, as if every fiber in his being was aligned with a greater purpose. It might fade with time, and it might not. Ginny might decide that she wasn't up for the challenge inherent in being with him or he might decide that she wasn't the one for him. It didn't matter. Whatever the future held for them, he could accept it. Whatever was in store for his family, he could accept it.

Ginny's arms were tight around him, wonderfully comforting. "We'll be all right, whatever happens," she murmured. She was thinking the same thing. There were no promises being made, no lies or truths being told. It was just a moment between two people that was a pure and shared thing, an accepting moment that she could carry with her later.

They parted slowly, smiling at each other. Hope was such a wonderful, beautiful thing. "The worst is over now, I think," Ginny said softly.

Draco nodded and took her hand. Together they walked back toward the ruined castle.

 

The End.


End file.
